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iBean, at 6 months, is just as in love with books as her oldest brother was. Keesadilla likes books, but has never been as enamoured with them as Sashimi and her.

Tony came home from the library last week with a new book: Where Willy Went: The BIG Story of a Little Sperm. I thought it was a joke, but it isn’t. Honestly, it is a great book for kids around Sashimi’s age who cannot stop asking questions and want the real deal, not some story about a stork or a cabbage patch. Sashimi already knows about sperm and eggs and how the whole thing works, so this book did not really add anything other than great humour and funny pictures. But we have read it at least once a day since we borrowed it just the same 🙂

**I realize this is NOT wordless, as the title claims it to be. FAIL! but I had too many people ask me about this book to leave you hanging. Sorry for the Epic Fail.

Yes, I am a mom. Yes, I am in my late 20s. Yes, I have better, more productive, things that I could be doing. But I’d rather be reading Twilight. The whole saga. I have read it twice in the last 6 months. I will probably read it again.

Here is the other secret: I am not alone. There are many of us, mothers, who love Twilight, who love Edward, who love Jacob. There are even maternity shirts to prove it.
Seeing how the premise for these books is so cheesy and rooted in vicariously satisfying our insane teenage romantic angst, one may wonder why there are so many moms who love it to the point of plopping their kids in front of the TV so that they can read just ONE MORE CHAPTER, and then sleep on Edward pillowcases while their husband snores away next to them.

Why do moms love Edward?

1. Edward is perfect. Every woman loves a broody, dangerous man, a man that hints at adventure, but wants to protect you and not let you into his world for fear of corrupting you. That is Edward. Corrupting without intending to corrupt.
2. Edward is 17. Forever. Seventeen. Wouldn’t we all like to be sleeping with a 17-year old forever?
3. Edward wants to protect your virtue. How many 17 year old guys wanted to protect mine? None. That’s how many. Not that I was giving it away, but there were enough that wanted to steal it and run away to Fiji and bury it in volcanic ash so that I could never find it again.
4. Edward sparkles. Everyone likes sparkles. Especially moms who can admire the brilliance of it without having to vacuum it up for months afterward.
5. Edward is ok with you having guy friends, even ones you are potentially in love with but don’t know it yet. This may be seen as pure stupidity from Edward’s perspective, but not really. When one guy is jealous and the other is kindly and gently waiting for you in the wings, who do you run to? The sparkly one. Who will be 17 forever.
6. Edward plays the piano and writes his own music. He can serenade you anytime you want with your OWN lullaby, written just for you. And if you drag your piano outside, he’ll sparkle while he plays.
7. In the midst of global warming, Edward is natural and free AC.
8. Since vampires don’t sleep and have extraordinary speed, he could clean your house for you while you sleep and get your beauty rest.
9. Dude is loaded. Not that I am a gold digger or anything.

Jacob has his good points, too.

1. Jacob has a nice complexion, so no need to sunscreen him up every 30 minutes when playing outside.
2. Jacob is so tall you will never need a stool to reach for things in the cupboard anymore
3. Jacob can keep dogs and cats from digging up your flower beds.
4. Jacob is super hot – temperature, that is. As a female who is habitually cold, this appeals to me. And this would save on rising energy costs.
5. Jacob will grow out OR cut his hair for you. It’s all a matter of preference.
6. You could have a baby with Jacob without it trying to eat its way out of your womb and breaking your spine during delivery.
7. Jacob will grow old with you and will eventually die of natural causes.

Either way, moms love Twilight. So much so that you can now buy your own bite-sized Edward to keep on your nightstand. Or to bite at your own leisure. He could sure bite me anytime…

**And many thanks for my dear husband who feeds my addiction by buying me said action figure. Did I mention it sparkles? Just saying…

I am writing to you because I have recently purchased the classic Super Mario Bros 3 game for my Wii using some Wii points, and I have a few suggestions that I think could improve this game.

Clearly, 4 lives are not enough to start out with. After several attempts, I feel that you should up the lives-allotment to 8, as that’s how many lives it took me to get past level 1.

Those flying mushroom-looking dudes should not fly. They misrepresent what real mushrooms can do. Furthermore, if one accidentally runs into one, one should not lose a life. I think that a nice little band-aid or something similar would suffice. Or maybe the little mushrooms could kiss you or make you high. Mushrooms do that, right? That would make sense, no?

The boomerang throwing turtle should die.

Every time you finish A level, you should immediately get a free life. This life will undoubtedly be needed for running into those damn flying mushroom evil thingies.

What the hell is the purpose of the coins? Can I bank them and trade them in for more lives? If not, get rid of them. They’re useless to me.

When you ultimately run out of lives and die, you should NOT have to go back and try to pass level 1 again. That is just cruel and unnecessary punishment for dying by flying mushrooms.

I may have more suggestions for your consideration once I get past level 4. Until then, I remain respectfully yours,

Mrs. Mustard

In case you think I am exaggerating, I am not. I am truly the worst super mario player ever to touch a nintendo.

Despite the ridiculous difficulty in obtaining a Wii in most of Canada (anywhere you look, they’re back-ordered or out-of-stock), we got one. Last weekend. It was a great weekend. I whooped Col. Mustard’s ass at everything, despite my being huge with baby.

I thought this weekend would be an easy victory. HA! Turns out the Col. has been practicing. A lot. Especially at tennis, which I have actually played in real life, while he has not. I don’t know how many best-of-fives we played last night, but they all ended after 3 matches, and never in my favour. He can hit those balls and make them go so fast, while mine just lob over the net with a nice pregnant arc.

The Col. decided to run on the elliptical after trouncing me at tennis, but I wanted to redeem myself at something, anything. So I decided to take up a new sport: bowling. Nice low impact, not really cardio, I thought it would be great. And it was. I am the MASTA of bowling. I played until I racked up my skill level to 784. Then I noticed that my butt really hurt. I was using muscles I didn’t know I had anymore, so I decided to call it a night.

My ass thought otherwise.

My ass and lower back ached so much that I couldn’t sleep for most of the night, on top of the regular night-time wakefulness a pregnant women suffers in her third trimester. Luckily for me, the Col. woke up with Sacha and took him to church while I tried to sleep in.

They just got back from church. Turns out there was a pancake buffet breakfast. I ate Cheerios at home. Serves my heathen-wiiing-ass right, I guess.

——-

I welcome any tips on how to play Wii tennis and spike those balls so I can beat my husband, whose advantage seems to lie in the fact that he is so clearly accustomed to playing with his.

Let it be known to all the world that today, I have found Jesus. He has been missing for 2 years and although I looked everywhere, I couldn’t find him. I couldn’t even put out my nativity set this Christmas (or last) because it just didn’t feel right, knowing that Jesus wasn’t there.

So where did I find him? He was under the stairs in a little box with our moonshine wine-making accessories. Henceforth, I shall know, and I am telling the world on the internets, that the drinking and making of such fine home-distilled beverages is truly the only way to find Jesus.

When I was a kid, my aunt used to make gingerbread houses and invite us over to decorate them. She was a pro – she had all the cool icing bags and tips, she could make icicles, she could do anything. We made really cool houses every year and loaded up on a ton of candy in the process.

In an attempt to recapture my youth, I bought a gingerbread house kit. If you want to make a house as cool as mine, here’s how:

1. Cut the tip of the icing bag WAY too big so that any fancy decorating is completely impossible.

2. Try to cover up the bad icing job with tons of candy. Like so:

3. Do not follow any colour scheme or motif. Motifs are for losers. Chaos works better:

4. Make sure that the icing that comes with your kit does not set. Despite following all instructions to the letter, what you really want is for your roof to fall off after you’ve tossed a pound of candy on it to cover your bad decorating job:

5. Use boxes to hold the roof in place so that it doesn’t cave in anymore. Pose like a dumb-ass next to your decorating abomination: